“If everything you’ve told us checks out, you’re in the clear,” Jim said.
“Is that all?” Brandon asked.
Jim stood and looked down at Brandon. “Only one more question tonight: Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Stephanie? Anyone who held a grudge against her, her husband or her family?”
Brandon shrugged. “No, sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t know much about Stephanie’s personal life. We weren’t friends. We were simply lovers for a couple of weeks and my interest in her didn’t go beyond a mutual sexual attraction.”
Bernie rose to her feet, forced herself to shake hands with Brandon and said, “Thank you for your cooperation.”
He held her hand a moment too long and said, “Tell Robyn I said hello.”
Bernie plastered a weak half smile on her lips, then turned and headed off the porch, wanting to get away from this guy as quickly as possible before she acted in an unprofessional manner.
She made it back to the truck ahead of Jim, and by the time he opened the driver’s door, she was already inside the cab and had her seatbelt fastened. Jim got in, inserted the key in the ignition switch and started the engine; then he spread his arm out across the back of the seat, his big hand resting behind her head.
“Nice fellow,” Jim said.
“Isn’t he?” Bernie replied sarcastically.
“So, is he the type of guy your sister likes?”
That was it—the straw that broke the camel’s back. The tension that had built up inside her at having to deal with a bastard like Brandon Kelley had brought her to the very edge, but she had managed to remain in control. But now this! She’d thought she could handle Jim’s interest in Robyn, that even if the two dated, she would not get upset. After all, Jim Norton was nothing more to her than any other deputy.
Yeah, right. He’s just the man she’d had a teenage crush on, the man she had idolized from afar like so many other teenage girls had done a couple of decades ago. And he was just the first man in only God knew how long who had stirred back to life something uniquely feminine and sexual within her. That’s all Jim Norton was to her.
“Robyn doesn’t actually have a specific type,” Bernie said, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “So if you’re thinking that she might not date you because you’re nothing like Brandon, don’t worry. My sister loves to sample a variety. She has very eclectic tastes in bed partners. Although I have to admit that given the choice between a nice guy and a real sleaze, she usually tends to choose the sleaze.”
Jim sucked in his cheeks, then huffed out a boy-did-I-step-in-it breath and said, “Okay, thanks for clearing that up for me.”
“You’re welcome,” Bernie said much too loudly.
But Jim appeared to ignore her. He backed his truck out of the driveway and onto the dirt road without saying another word or glancing her way. They drove in silence all the way back to town, which made Bernie feel rather foolish. She kept wondering if Jim realized the real reason she had overreacted to his perfectly normal question about her sister’s preference in men. Did he realize that she was jealous of the fact that he was interested in her sister and not in her? God, she hoped not.
Jim couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Bernie, why she seemed to be angry with him. Or did he have nothing to do with her attitude? Maybe she was mad at her sister for apparently sleeping around and choosing the wrong kind of guy time and again.
Just like Mary Lee. Another thing Robyn Granger had in common with his ex-wife. If this similarity didn’t warn him off, nothing would. Hadn’t he sworn that if he ever got seriously involved with another woman, he would listen to his brain and not his dick? Yeah, but who said that if he and Robyn became involved, it would turn into something serious. He got the idea that she wasn’t interested in settling down. So what would be the harm in getting to know the lady a little better, in getting himself laid?
“You’ll have to give me directions to your house,” Jim said. “I don’t know where you live.”
“Huh?”
“You want me to take you home, don’t you? Or should I drop you off to pick up your Jeep? I assume you don’t still live at home with your parents.”
“No, I have my own place and my folks probably took my Jeep to my house for me. I live on East Jefferson Street. That’s two blocks down from Washington. One-oh-four. It’s the third house on the right, an old twenties bungalow. Pale yellow with dark green shutters.”
Jim nodded and continued driving. He had kept silent because Bernie seemed to prefer it that way; besides, he really didn’t know of anything to talk about other than the case they were working on together. He had immediately sensed the tension between them and wished he knew if he’d done something to create the problem. Too bad Charlie Patterson had gotten a call from his headquarters in Huntsville and had to drive back there overnight; otherwise, Charlie would have gone with them to question Brandon Kelley, and maybe his presence would have diffused whatever had set Bernie off. It wasn’t as if she’d screamed or chewed him out or told him that she was totally pissed. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had ruffled her feathers.
“This is it, right?” he asked as soon as he spotted the house. He knew it had to be the right one since the street numbers had been painted on the curb and glowed in the dark. And with the porch light on, the large brass numbers attached to the door frame were visible.
“Yes, this is it.”
He pulled into the drive and stopped at the brick sidewalk that led from the drive to the porch. As soon as he killed the motor, he opened his door, but before he got out, she said, “You don’t have to go to the trouble of seeing me to my door.”
He hesitated for half a second, then got out anyway and replied, “No trouble.” By the time he made it around to the passenger side, she’d already opened her door and gotten out on her own. They stood there and stared at each other for just a minute; then she started walking. He fell into step beside her, and together they rounded the truck’s hood, walked up the sidewalk and stepped up on the porch.
When they reached her front door, she stopped and turned to face him. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” He made it halfway down the sidewalk before he turned around and called to her. “Do you want to go somewhere and get a bite to eat? We didn’t have any supper and I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s growling.”
She paused in the middle of opening her front door, squared her shoulders and glanced at him. “There is absolutely nothing open in Adams Landing this late on a Sunday night.”
“You’re kidding? Surely one of the fast-food places stays open past nine.”
“Not on Sunday nights.”
“Great. I guess I’ll have to settle for some peanut butter and crackers when I get to the house.”
When he walked away, she called, “Jim?”
He halted. “Yeah?”
“Want to come in and eat supper with me? I’m sure my mother brought some leftovers from dinner and put them in my refrigerator. She always loads me down with leftovers since she knows I seldom cook just for myself.”
“Lady, if you think I’m going to turn down an offer like that, you don’t know me.” He hurried up the sidewalk and was right behind her by the time she opened her front door.
She flipped on the overhead light as she entered the house, and Jim scanned the large, square-shaped living room as he came inside behind her. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find—maybe a plain, colorless decor with functional furniture—but this warm, homey room filled with comfortable-looking chairs and a sofa and what he figured were several antique pieces surprised him. The walls were pale yellow, with wide crown molding at the top and old-fashioned mopboard at the bottom. Floral silk curtains hung over plantation blinds at the windows. Standing there in the middle of the room, Jim got the oddest feeling. He felt at home, and God knew he hadn’t felt at home anywhere i
n ages. What was it about Bernie’s house that made him react like this?
It’s because this house, even this room, reminds you of your grandmother Norton’s house in Mississippi.
“Sit down and relax,” Bernie told him. “Turn on the TV or the radio or put on a CD while I go warm us up some supper. Do you prefer ham or fried chicken? Since Mama served both today, I’m sure there’s some of both in my refrigerator.”
“I’m not picky. Either is just fine with me.” But he didn’t sit down; instead, he followed her through the house and toward the kitchen.
She glanced over her shoulder and stared at him. “What?”
“I’m coming out to the kitchen to help you,” he said.
“Oh.”
Her kitchen was small, no more than twelve by twelve, and a set of long windows commanded most of the space on the back wall. The room had been wallpapered in tiny, navy blue gingham checks and white curtains hung at the windows and on the half-glass backdoor. The cabinets and appliances were all white, as were the small table and two chairs situated in front of the windows.
“So, what can I do to help?” he asked.
“Get us a couple of plates and some glasses.” She pointed to the top center cabinet. “And the silverware is in the drawer directly below.” Again, she pointed. “You set the table and I’ll see what I can find in the refrigerator.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at the table, two wiped-clean plates in front of them, along with two empty iced tea glasses and a couple of crumb-covered dessert plates.
Jim leaned back, rubbed his belly and sighed. “Your mother is a great cook. If possible, that food tasted better the second time around.”
Bernie groaned. “I ate too much. I shouldn’t have eaten dessert, but I cannot resist my mother’s Mississippi mud pie.”
Jim chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“You are,” he told her, then added, “in a good way.”
When she stared at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s just that most women won’t eat like you did in front of a man. They pretend they have these delicate little appetites and nibble at their food.”
“You’ll learn soon enough that I’m not like most women.”
“What I said, I meant as a compliment, not an insult.”
“I didn’t take it as an insult.”
“Good.”
“I can put on some decaf coffee, if you’d like.”
Jim shook his head. “As tempting as that is, I’ll pass.” He scooted back his chair, stood and stretched. “After I help you clean up, I’d better head on home. Six o’clock will roll around in a hurry.”
She stood, picked up his plate and stacked it on top of hers. “You don’t have to stay and help me clean up. It won’t take a minute to put these things in the dishwasher. You go on and get a good night’s rest. We’ve still got a murder case to solve.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need my help.”
“I’m sure.”
She walked him to the front porch, then stood there and watched him as he got in his old truck. He paused, looked back at her and waved before he started the engine. She lifted her hand and waved, a soft smile on her lips. All of a sudden, Jim didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his cold, lonely duplex. He wanted to stay here in this warm, inviting home…with Bernie.
Hellfire, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t attracted to Bernie, didn’t feel “that way” about her, so why was it that he didn’t want to leave her?
Because you felt comfortable with her, as if you’d known her all your life.
He rolled down the window and called to her, “See you in the morning, boss.”
Laughing, she shook her head and called back to him, “That’s Sheriff Granger to you, deputy.”
“Thanks for supper.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thanks for the good company.”
“Same here.”
“Sleep tight.”
“You, too.”
Damn it, Norton, go home, will you? If you keep hanging around, she’s going to think you don’t want to leave.
I don’t.
Go home. You can’t stay here and sleep on Bernie’s couch, even if you want to and she might actually let you. What would the neighbors think? Chuckling to himself, Jim put the truck’s gears into reverse and backed out of the driveway, then headed down Jefferson. Halfway to his duplex apartment an odd thought hit him. Not once while he’d been with Bernie had he thought about her beautiful sister.
Chapter 9
Thomasina had worn a dress today instead of her usual slacks and blouse. Wanting to get into the old-fashioned romantic mood Brandon was setting for their relationship, she felt a dress was appropriate. Besides, she had great legs and she could showcase them in a just-above-the-knee hemline. Nothing too sexy, just slightly alluring. Of course, she’d had to contend with a few lascivious stares from her young male students, but she had simply ignored them.
Fingering the pearls around her neck, she thought about what Brandon might say or do when he saw that she was wearing his gift. Would he simply smile at her or would he tell her how pleased he was to see her wearing the pearls? Surely he would understand that her wearing the pearls was a sign of her willingness to begin a meaningful relationship.
She had arrived early this morning, hoping to meet up with Brandon in the faculty lounge since he, too, had an eight o’clock class, but he’d been a no-show. Her disappointment must have shown on her face because Marianne Clark had asked her if something was wrong. She’d lied to the middle-aged busybody who was teaching basic biology for the summer quarter.
“I’m fine,” Thomasina had said. “Just thinking about how to motivate my students. Not too many of them are actually interested in history.”
And today during the morning classes, she had been as disinterested in the rise and fall of the Roman Empire as her students had been. She’d caught herself daydreaming more than once, and for the past thirty minutes, she had practically counted the minutes until her midday break. When the class ended, she grabbed the sack lunch she’d brought, rushed out of her building and headed straight toward the arts department. If she didn’t catch a glimpse of Brandon, she could walk casually by his office, which was adjacent to the art studio. And if anyone asked her what she was doing there, she had the perfect excuse. The students’ artwork was on display for the entire month of July. Sketches, paintings, sculptures.
As nervous as a thirteen-year-old on her first date, Thomasina made her way down the corridor toward the studio. The door stood wide open, so she simply paused and glanced inside, doing her best to act nonchalantly. The studio was empty. A couple of students passed by and spoke. She smiled at them, nodded and walked past Brandon’s office. The door was closed. Approaching the door cautiously, not wanting anyone to realize that she was checking to see if Dr. Kelley was in, she eased over to the closed door and listened. Nothing. Not a sound. But he could be in there, eating quietly or reading or just resting.
Why don’t you knock on the door and say hello? Tell him you came over to look at the students’ artwork. But if she did that, would she appear too eager? Would her making the next move be appropriate or would he prefer for her to wait for him to take things to the next level?
But she didn’t want to wait, was tired of waiting. She wanted to hurry things up just a little, to at least reach the point where they acknowledged the fact that they had a relationship.
Garnering all her courage, Thomasina curled her hand into a fist, reached up and knocked on the door. Her heartbeat thundered maddeningly in her ears.
No response.
She knocked again. A little harder and for twice as long.
“He’s not there,” a familiar male voice said.
Sucking in a deep breath, Thomasina turned and faced Scotty Joe Walters with a smile. The handsome young deputy was in charge of the D.A.R.E. programs in
the Adams County schools and assisted with the neighborhood watch programs and the senior citizens programs such as T.R.I.A.D. The junior college provided the sheriff’s department with a storage area for books, booklets, pamphlets, and other items used with the various programs and they also allowed the sheriff’s department to use their auditorium facilities for various group meetings and events. Scotty Joe was such a familiar face around Adams County Junior College that he seemed like a member of the staff. Everyone liked the good-looking deputy. The guy was always friendly and cordial, and he had the kind of gentlemanly manners every mother wished her son had. She wasn’t sure how old he was. Mid-to-late twenties would be her guess.
“I beg your pardon?” Thomasina acted innocent, as if she had no idea what he’d meant.
“Dr. Kelley. He’s not in his office,” Scotty Joe said. “You were looking for him, weren’t you?”
“Well, actually, I came over to take a look at the student art that’s being displayed this month and I just thought I’d say hi to Brandon while I’m in his building.”
“You just missed him. Robyn Granger picked him up in her snazzy little yellow sports car. I figure they’re headed out somewhere for lunch.”
“Oh.” Please, dear God, don’t let what I’m feeling show on my face. Don’t let Scotty Joe figure out that I’m hurt and disappointed and on the verge of bursting into tears.
“Hey, you okay, Thomasina? You look sort of green or something.”
“It’s nothing. I didn’t eat breakfast and I guess I’m just hungry,” she lied as she held the tears at bay.
“Is that your lunch you’ve got with you?” He eyed the small brown paper bag she held so tightly that her nails bit into the flesh of her palm.
Easing her death grip on the bag, she nodded, but heaven help her, she couldn’t respond verbally because she was choking down her on-the-verge-of-erupting tears.
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